


Bunker Buddies

by deputyrook



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Bunker Ending, F/M, Nuclear Ending, Post Game, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deputyrook/pseuds/deputyrook
Summary: It's the end of the world as she knows it, and Rook is not fine.Rook is terrified of the fact that she's drawn to Joseph Seed, but stuck in a bunker, she has no choice but to learn to coexist with him. Will she lose herself and her mind in the process of trying to survive? Can she fight the strange pull that exists between them- the strange workings that Joseph would call their destiny?





	Bunker Buddies

When Rook wakes up, her body feels stiff. In the swelling darkness of the room, it takes her a moment to remember where she is, and how she got there. It also takes a moment for the sensation of pain to come back to her. In those first few moments of wakefulness, she’s forgotten it all, and it leaves her confused and anxious. Why is her leg aching so badly- why can she barely move?

But then it comes back to her in a rush, and God, how Rook wishes it hadn’t. Images burned into her mind of fire raining from the sky, ash on ash. Pratt praying loudly in the back seat, the screaming, the sounds of explosions in the distance. Joseph’s singing, _Amazing Grace_. Jerking the wheel of the van, her knuckles holding so tightly to it that they’re white. Pain, pain, blossoms of pain. 

And then waking up. Joseph Seed, sitting across from her, her right leg wrapped heavily in bandages. That had been how long ago? She wasn’t sure, but it didn't feel like too long. Consciousness had come and gone for her like snowfall on the cusp of spring. But as she blinks her eyes open and takes a look around, she feels more awake than she has since the accident, more coherent. She feels stronger, for the first time since waking in the bunker.

Rook is alone in the room. She doesn’t know where Joseph is, and she’s glad for that, because she needs to take a moment to try to run through her situation with a clear head.

Okay, so the world has ended. Now what? … _Now what?_

She could almost laugh at it, if it wasn’t so horrifying. Joseph Seed had been right, or it had been the biggest damn coincidence that could have possibly happened. Nukes had rained down from the sky. The Collapse he’d preached on and on about, the Great War he’d foreseen, they’d come just as he cried that the last seal had been broken. So maybe he really did hear the Voice of God. Maybe he really was a prophet, and this was all her fault for not listening to him. What did it matter now? For all she knew, they could be the last two people left alive in the entire world.

Breathing out a shaky breath, Rook leans her head against the bed she's chained to and closes her eyes. She’d always consideredit in the back of her head, hadn’t she? That Joseph _might_ be right. There’d always been a quiet voice whispering it in her mind, sometimes the death-echo of John Seed as she’d stood over him, gun in hand. _What if he is right?_

Or maybe that was just what she’d coined “The Joseph Seed Effect.” He’d spoken to her a number of times, often while she was high on bliss or starving. He had looked at her like she was the only human being in the world to him, and as he spoke, she knew why he’d managed to gain control over the lives of so many people. There was no denying that the man was charismatic in his intensity. Sometimes, when he’d pulled her in close and put his hands on her shoulders, she’d get a sort of shiver down her spine. Like a private electricity existed, a magnetic pull, just between the two of them. She’d felt it in the church, when he’d held his hands out to be arrested and looked at her, only her, and in the helicopter, when he’d leaned in and addressed her directly. It was a quiet draw she felt toward him, the kind that seemed far more holy to her than any of the scriptures he preached.

As so she’d coined it in her mind, the “Joseph Seed Effect,” one she vowed not to let get in the way of her better judgement. After all, she knew enough about dangerous cult leaders to know how they manipulated and used people, and Rook was not about to resign herself to the flock, no matter how _special_ she was made to feel. She wasn't going to make the same mistake that Faith had.

With a sigh, Rook pushes herself into a seated position, her back against the end of the bed. First thing’s first, she needs to take a good look at her ankle. But even sitting upright is a struggle. It feels as though her body is on fire as she moves, sore and bruised like a bad peach, and being handcuffed to the bed post makes it all the more difficult.When she does manage to sit upright, she takes a moment to rest before she leans forward to pull up her pant leg.

Her foot and ankle have been bandaged neatly. Clearly Joseph- she assumes it was Joseph- knew what he was doing. With two fingers, she begins to poke around her ankle gingerly, wincing as she does. It doesn’t seem too bad, until-

Rook sucks in a quick breath and lets out a soft grunt of pain as she touches a swollen, painful part of her ankle. With her teeth clenched, she prods around the area, and comes to conclusion her foot is probably broken. Even if she was unchained, she doubts she’d be able to walk on it like this. Forget trying to outrun Joseph and escape.

Looking around the room, Rook takes in her surroundings as calmly as she can. Dutch- Dutch’s _body_ is gone. She’s thankful for that, at least. Thinking about Dutch now, she realizes his death still hasn’t hit her, emotionally. None of them have. Pratt, Hudson, Whitehorse, all likely dead in the crash. Nick, Kim, Sharky, Jerome, Tracey, Jess… it hasn’t hit her. Everyone is dead, and all she can feel is a slight twinge of fear, mostly for her own safety. There are no tears in her to cry. Even if she would let herself cry openly, the emotion sits like a bezoar in her chest, refusing to be expressed.

It isn’t the time for tears, anyway. She’s got to figure out a way out of here. But is there anywhere left for her to go? Is there anyone left for her to run to?

The room’s been changed since she was last in the bunker. Joseph’s redecorated. Cult symbols hang on the walls, and there’s a bible quote scrolled across the wall. Rook squints, but she can’t quite make it out. The chair Joseph had been sitting in still rests in the same position across from where Rook is chained, and she feels a chill run through her. _How long did Joseph spend, sitting there and watching her sleep?_

Across the room from her, a radio sits on a small metal shelf. The _radio._ If anyone was still alive besides her and Joseph, they’d be broadcasting a signal, wouldn’t they? With her arms chained to the bed, Rook can’t make her way over there to turn it on and see, though. But maybe, if she lies down flat on her back and angles herself just right, she’ll be able to reach the shelf with her foot.

Her body aches, and protests as she moves again. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Rook shimmies her body down on the left side of the post she’s chained to, laying on her back as far as she can stretch herself across the room. With her good leg, she kicks Joseph’s chair away before she reaches for the shelf with her foot. Her hands, still locked in handcuffs, are up by her shoulders, and she can just barely touch the tip of her toe to the shelving unit. _Damn her short legs._

Rook kicks her good leg out with all of the strength she can muster, and her sole barely touches the shelf. Grunting, and squeezing her eyes shut in pain, Rook kicks again, extending herself just a bit further, putting just a bit more force into it.

Her foot connects. The shelf rattles, and the corner she kicked is pushed back, while the other corner of the shelf moves closer to her. It’s now _just_ close enough that if she manages to hook her good foot around the shelf’s leg, she might be able to pull the whole shelf toward her. Panting, Rook takes a moment to lie there in rest before she opens her eyes, swallows, and reaches toward the other corner of the desk with her foot.

If Rook extends her body any further, she thinks she has a pretty good chance of dislocating her shoulder. Exhaling all of the air from her body, Rook reaches with her toe, kicking out her leg in hopes that she can pull the corner a little closer. It _works_. She can reach the shelf’s leg with her toe. Very carefully, Rook flexes her foot, and tries to drag the entire shelf closer. 

The shelf is heavier than she anticipated, and Rook grunts as she pulls the shelf toward her, using the strength of her leg and her core. She’s still so sore from the accident, and exerting herself like this is so painful that Rook can’t help but cry out quietly. But the shelf is closer to her now, and if she just keeps pulling it, she’ll be able to reach the radio with her hands and-

With only a second of notice, the radio wobbles, and tips over the corner of the shelf. It falls and crashes to the ground, landing squarely on Rook’s broken ankle.

Rook _howls_ in pain. The sound is ripped from her chest, no hope of her being able to keep quiet as white stars flash across her vision. Tears prick in her eyes, and lying on the ground, Rook moans and curls inward. Her foot is throbbing, worse pain than she’s possibly ever felt, so taken by it that she can’t even muster up the fortitude to check to make sure the radio hasn’t broken.

As she lies there, curled up inward, whimpering and breathing slowly, footsteps approach. The door opens, and although Rook is facing away from it, she knows who it has to be entering the room. Still, she closes her eyes and pretends it’s someone else. Eli, or Jerome. 

“My child.” Joseph says. He sounds disappointed. “What are you doing?” Joseph walks over to where Rook is laying, and picks up the radio into his hands. He looks at it for a moment, before placing it back on top of the shelf. Easily, and unknowing of the trouble Rook had just gone for it, Joseph pushes the shelf back up against the wall. 

“My foot.” Rook gasps, “It landed on my _fucking_ foot.”

If Joseph is opposed to the cursing, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he crouches by Rook, and gingerly moves her back into a sitting position. It’s hard for Rook not to feel a bit thankful for his help, doubting she’d be able to move and sit up again on her own. Still, it unnerves her how quick he is to touch her and move her how he wants.

“Why would you do that?” And for the first time since she woke up in the bunker, Rook is face to face with Joseph Seed. It’s strange, to see him without his glasses. Though his eyes are still sunken and dark, and he sports a black eye and a bruise across his nose, the injuries have obviously begun to heal. And he looks clean, his hair up in a neat bun, wearing what looks to be one of Dutch’s shirts. It’s too big for him, and he has the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“I wanted to see if anyone was out there.” Rook responds, her voice rough. She settles back against the bed and sighs. It feels like her body is already exhausted, despite not being awake long. Joseph is kneeling at her foot now, and he pulls it into his lap. Rook hisses in pain.

“Careful!” She snaps, and Joseph looks up at her. Something about his look reminds her of how dangerous he is. “…Please.” She adds softly. And Joseph is tender with her, examining her foot and turning her ankle from side to side, watching her reactions as Rook winces. After a moment, he drops her foot, keeping it in his lap.  


“There is no one for you to speak to out there,” Joseph tells her, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Neither of us have any family left beside each other. Don’t you understand?” Rook can’t meet his gaze, too intense, scorching her. Instead, she looks at her foot. “Broken. In the crash.” Joseph tells her, confirming what she’d assumed. “It was by the grace of God you were alive when I found you at all. Do you remember what I said?”

Joseph waits. Rook has no idea what he’s talking about, and his lips settle into a thin line of displeasure. Leaning in, he takes her face into his hands, making her meet his gaze. Rook swallows nervously, staring back at him.

“The Lord taketh. And the Lord giveth,” He whispers, an edge to his voice. Slowly, he tilts her face forward, and presses their foreheads together. Rook shivers, staying still. He keeps her there for a moment, before pulling away, and moving to stand.

“I thought about letting you die, you know,” Joseph says, voice devoid of all emotion. “And then I realized. You were a _gift_ to me. An apology for all the Lord has taken. He moved through you. And now, you will find your way to atonement with me.” Joseph looks down at her and smiles. “You must be starving. I’ll be back with some food.”

And without another word, Joseph leaves the room. As always after an encounter with Joseph, Rook is left reeling, trying to make sense of it. Echoes of pain still thrum through her foot, and Rook looks up at the radio. It doesn’t look broken, but it’s too difficult to tell. As much as she hates to admit it, she can’t think of any other course of action except to wait for Joseph to return with food, especially considering how her stomach growls at the thought. 

Just as he promised, Joseph returns several minutes later, with a warm bowl of soup cradled in his hands. Chicken noodle, Rook realizes at the smell, with a pang going through her chest. She hasn’t had chicken noodle soup for a long time.

And as Joseph sits back down in front of her, (uncomfortably close, as always), it’s the sight of the chicken soup which threatens Rook with a lump in her throat. She sniffles, and puts the thought of her family out of her mind. Instead, she reaches out with her hands to take the bowl and spoon from Joseph. He stares at her open hands, a mirror of when the two of them first met. He does not pass over the bowl.

“I will feed you.” He says. Rook frowns.

“I can feed myself.” She protests. Joseph makes no motion to hand her the bowl, and slowly, she drops her hands.

“You need to save your strength. I will nurture you.” Joseph murmurs, and he holds a spoon of soup up to her lips. Feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment, but her stomach rumbling in need, Rook opens her mouth. Joseph plops the spoon into her mouth as though feeding a child, and Rook has to admit, it feels good to have warm food in her belly. And the less her body has to move right now, the happier it is. Greedily, she opens her mouth again, waiting for the next spoonful, and Jospeh smiles ever so slightly at the sight of her compliance.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asks, continuing to feed Rook. It’s strange. In these moments, Joseph almost seems normal, almost kind. She supposes that this is how he ended up with a cult following- many personal moments of intimacy and softness, just like this one.

“Is there enough food for us both to survive here?” Rook asks in between mouthfuls of soup. Joseph nods, and she feels relieved. She’s certainly in no position to fight for her survival.

“Yes. He was quite stocked up with supplies. There’s food, water. First aid kits, blankets and military gear. It is a shame, though. My bunker was stocked with holy books.” Joseph sighs, “But we have what we need to survive here in the coming years.”

Years? _Years?_ Rook looks away from Joseph, and thinks of Dutch instead of the implications of _that_ statement.

She wouldn’t have called Dutch her friend. Certainly, he wasn’t the kind of man she’d normally become pals with. But she owed Dutch. He’d saved her life, clothed her, provided her with a bed where she could lay her head without worry. When Rook had first woken up to see Dutch sitting over her, she’d been terrified. Scared of the cult, of what was going to happen, that she was going to die or be taken in by them and their _Father_. It was only with time that she’d grown stronger and less afraid, but she wouldn’t have had that chance without Dutch’s help.

She’d trusted Dutch, and they’d become close, in a strange, sort of quiet way.

“You killed him.” Rook mutters, “And left his body bleeding out on the floor.”

Joseph meets her eyes. His stare, so often deep with emotion, is devoid of it once again.

“He had no place in our paradise.” He answers simply, filling the spoon with the last of the soup and bringing it to Rook’s mouth. Rook opens, and allows him to feed her. “He opened the door when he saw I had you in my arms. But he would have never allowed me to stay. He would have killed me as soon as my back was turned. Besides.” Joseph hums, and looks away, off in the distance, “It was meant to be you and I here, alone together.”

_Jesus Christ._ Rook thinks. 

“Even though I killed your whole family?” She asks quietly, suddenly. For some reason, she can’t meet his eyes when she says it. Maybe she’s still partially afraid of what he might do, or maybe she feels threads of guilt tying knots inside of her. Joseph pauses, and reaches out with his hand. He runs his knuckles across the skin of her cheek, and Rook can feel a tremor run through him. It seems to pass from his body to hers, as she feels herself respond in kind.

“…I will forgive you, in time.” He says. “God has brought you here with me for a reason. He works in ironies, and His Voice has spoken to me of you for a long time.” Joseph withdraws his hand, but stays seated, leaning in. He breathes in, smelling- he’s _smelling_ her, eyes closed, head tilted inward slightly toward her hair. 

“He has told me of you, an angel of wonder and terror. Of reaping and sowing. You can’t feel it yet, but _we_ are the two halves of it. You brought this world to its knees, while I prepared my flock. I tried to stop you, but you opened the seals. _You did_ _this_ to the world. But its together that we will save it.” Rook listens. She has no choice but to listen to him, and now that she’s seen it with her own eyes, it seems to make more sense to her than it used to. And that scares her almost as much as the reality of what he's said.

Jospeh leans in again, until their noses are nearly touching. He breathes out his words like they’re a prayer, or like they’re a promise. His voice is soft, but his tone is sharp, and Rook feels their blood run cold as he speaks.

“So _yes._ Even though _you killed my family._ I _will_ be your Father, and you _will_ accept me. And we _will_ cross Eden’s Gate, hand in hand.” 

Standing, Joseph picks up the empty bowl of soup. He looks down at Rook, who looks back up at him. Before she can ask him if he’ll unchain her, or bring her to the bed, he moves to leave the room. But he pauses by the doorway.

"You sleep so quietly. For someone with so much blood on your hands, so much sin, you seem so peaceful." Without another word, Joseph exits the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving Rook in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! I've been so excited to post this- the first chapter of my slow burn, multi-chapter bunker ending Joseph/Deputy fic. I'm hoping to keep a regular update schedule, so the next chapter should be up by next week!
> 
> I write a ton more over at deputyrook.tumblr.com


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